the zen derived peculiarly from bussing a ZILLION tables at o'sho restaurant (located on south road in poughkeepsie)

the supreme tunnel vision of seeing only plates awash in butter grease, glasses hollowed and perishing under lipstick stains and ravaged ice cubes, as your pores become brimfilled with smoke

occasionally a thought nudges its way into some prominence. a rhyme. a ditty. a philosophy on life. you swat it away 'with the easiness'. if the ditty is really flavorful you mouth the words as you bus bus bus bus bus.

driving back home with your dress between your legs, your car smelling like strawberry auto fragrance for the first time in its blushing adolescence, route 9 lit by orderly ranks of streetlights

never has such a serendipity of instances led up to an unraveling as this. okay, and in english: shite's really happening these days, and it's all a-1 on the significance ratings. my loyalties tipple and twitter and shudder and topple all about me as i become more and more exposed. my hit points are getting lower and lower on the horizon

"no more light, no more colour"

is it that we're easy or just 3 steps ahead of the (each other's) game? i feel best about it when i feel nothing about it. and i'm sure it's mutual. emptiness you say, ye gods and ye robber barons! emptiness! well, and so it was good. a sweet red-eyed soochow blossom if i ever saw one, and the hakujin boyfriend that i never see.

cipher
cyber
khyber

by the pricking of my thumbs shall ye know them

what was i thinking as i drove along? suddenly as i listened to nick lowe's breaking glass - that everything would be ok, via the route of my becoming a linguist, a glamorous little linguistic genius - possibly billed as the sexiest semantic-ic. it all happened. now what? i'm just killing time. what do i want? nothing. what can i remember? nothing. you see, now i'm listening to arab strap.

the heavy hearted flight
of cabbage moths
the terror shiver of swimming children

again: menial labor to replace thought is what i'm after. franny packs it in. never been one to particularly share the things which bother/impact me.

why?

partially, it seems rather an affront: being also one for whom others ishues only perturb me on the reflective -omg- level. i don't want to reciprocate and vice versa. yet - it's all dependent on the person. or moment. -mindcollapse-. the road less traveled i suppose. in any case here i go again, raging through the barriers of what must seem plain to the normal. normal to the plain. optix. that -friends- exist. that a plus-que-friend is not necessarily what one might think. that humans are not to be interconfused solely on their existence. confidences aren't so much confiding as unconfining. right?

the musical tyranny of late-night rides. at such times the sanctity overrides everything, every default of common sense, and even a make-out mixe a la jan could work. so be it, if someone hits nick drake up for the haul back from the ethan hawke hamlet. 1 2/11 times. speech is the first to go, wrigglingly dead within the first or second hesitant giggling non sequitur.